


Lament

by FandomFanficsGalore



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 13:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomFanficsGalore/pseuds/FandomFanficsGalore
Summary: Prompt from tumblr: Bagginshield with Thorin playing the harp.Bilbo makes an interesting discovery among their time in Rivendell...





	Lament

* * *

 

 

 

The first time Bilbo heard Thorin’s voice, it shook him to his very core, reaching places within his heart that he hadn’t known existed. Before his adventure, Bilbo Baggins lived a shallow existence. He was happy, for the most part–but everything was surface level.

The love and devotion and loss that the dwarves sang of in his living room were things Bilbo had never experienced before. Part of him was grateful for that. Another part of him… well. He ached for it. 

Because how can you gain anything if you stand to lose nothing?

After that first night, there were no songs along the road. The company was bedraggled and sore, and patience was at a low. Thorin glowered, growing antsier at each leg of their journey. They drew closer every day but Erebor was so terribly far, and wargs snapped at their heels.

So when Gandalf finally brought them to Rivendell, even some of the surlier dwarves–Thorin excluded–relaxed. As the dwarves made a mess of the communal baths, Bilbo washed up in a private room afforded to him by Lord Elrond (who seemed to have a soft spot for Hobbits like Gandalf.)

Fresh from troll snot and dirt and dressed in loose, billowing white clothes, Bilbo joined the company for dinner.

Thankfully they’d all dressed once again. Kili and Fili sat at the corner of the table whispering with Dwalin, whose bushy brows were furrowed in annoyance. Ori and Nori conversed as the former sketched something, and the rest picked at their food.

Bilbo took the last remaining seat near the end of the table beside Thorin, who, as usual, sat apart from the others. He smelled like soap, his dark hair gleaming with drops of water from his back. Thorin’s gaze followed him as the Hobbit settled down.

“You haven’t touched your food,” Bilbo pointed out, nodding to Thorin’s full plate. He pulled his own closer.

“It’s Elvish,” Thorin growled.

“Still food, isn’t it? You’ll be no use to anyone if you pass out from hunger.”

Thorin grumbled. Bilbo ignored him, pouring a thin brown dressing onto his salad. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thorin reluctantly nudge aside the leaves and pop a carrot into his mouth. Bilbo hid a smile.

In the corner, Elves played on their harps, a calm, lulling tune that carried through the air and made Bilbo feel light as a feather. He hummed.

He felt Thorin’s eyes on him before the dwarf spoke.

“You like it here.”

It wasn’t a question. Bilbo pursed his lips at the scorn in Thorin’s tone.

“It’s peaceful,” he admitted. “It’s better than being on the road. We have a roof over our head, food to eat, lovely music. It’s beautiful here.”

“Erebor is beautiful,” Thorin said. “It will be even more breathtaking when it is rebuilt.”

Bilbo softened. He didn’t know what Erebor looked like beyond vague sketches, but he had heard plenty of its glory from Balin and Thorin. He had no doubt that it was beautiful, but Rivendell would be hard to match. Thorin seemed to pick up on his thoughts, and parted his lips before the music screeched to a halt.

“Uncle, play something better!”

“Yes, uncle, play! Show these elves how it’s done.”

“This music is hideous.”

Kili leapt from his seat and plucked a golden harp from an Elf lass’ unsuspecting hands. She glared and Kili winked before spinning and bounding over to Thorin with a grin. Bilbo blinked.

“I didn’t know you played,” he said.

Thorin leveled a glare at Kili, whose grin faltered.

“I don’t anymore,” Thorin bit.

“Uncle, please–”

Thorin stood. His chair scraped back and everyone turned, the chatter dying away. The elves watched him warily. Finally Thorin turned and stormed out. The door slamming echoed throughout the hall and Bilbo winced.

Kili wilted. He tossed the harp to Dori, causing the elves to gasp, and down the line the dwarrows threw the harp until it once again landed in the lap of the Elf lass, whose cheeks were red with anxious fury.

Bilbo started after the closed door for a moment until Bofur called his attention, and the Hobbit allowed Thorin to slip to the back of his mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lord Elrond offered single rooms to the dwarrows, but they all turned it down, opting to rest in the dining hall together. They lay splayed out in a snoring heap, shuffling and drooling among their piles of blankets and bags.

Bilbo was the only one who took up the opportunity for a room on his own. As the night came, however, it felt… empty. Devoid of warmth. It was beautiful, to be sure, but that beauty was almost distracting. After a few minutes of fitful pacing, Bilbo tugged on his coat and stepped outside. He tiptoed past the dining hall and moved through the corridors leading outside. He stopped in an archway, breathing in the fresh air. In Rivendell, everything smelled of fresh flowers. It made him ache for Bag End and its little garden. Gamgee would be taking care of it, at least.

He was just about to turn in when a familiar voice caught his attention. It rolled and rumbled, deep and silky. Bilbo’s feet moved before he could think.

He followed the sound down the sloped hill to one of the fountains. In the center, an elf stood with her hands cupping a tulip from which water poured. It hummed quietly beneath the rise and fall of music and the sound of someone plucking at a harp. Bilbo inched closer.

Sitting before the fountain, legs crossed, was Thorin. In his arms he held a harp–small enough for him, meaning it was probably for an elven child. 

Bilbo could hardly think on that, though, Thorin’s fingers coaxed beautiful music from it.

 

 

_“Mahal gives her blessing_

_upon dwarrow kin_

_a message to travelers_

_before they begin_

_A fell trip it might be_

_to bring death upon your One_

_if death she shall call them_

_then let it be done_

_Mahal, take me_

_take me instead_

_instead of my kin_

_my soul for the dead…”_

 

Tears stung Bilbo’s eyes and he blinked them away. There was so much pain in Thorin’s voice. It wasn’t the deep-seated anguish that he sang about Erebor with, but a newer, raw sadness; a sadness for what may yet come.

The last few notes rang out. Silence fell, and Thorin’s shoulders slumped. Bilbo took a small step back.

“Join me, Burglar.”

Bilbo squeaked. Thorin turned to look over his shoulder. To Bilbo’s relief and confusion, he smiled, though his eyes were sad.

“Your feet are quiet, but your sniffling is not.”

Bilbo flushed. There was nothing for it, however, and he closed the remaining distance and settled beside Thorin, leaving a few inches between them. Thorin had left his furs, remaining only in his thin white shirt. The neck plunged, revealing thick dark curly hair. Bilbo looked away.

“That was…” Bilbo cleared his throat. “…beautiful, but sad. Do you never sing happy songs?”

Thorin smiled again. He gazed sightlessly at the fountain, and Bilbo knew his mind was far off.

“I will sing happy songs once we reclaim our mountain, Halfling. Then, we will sing for many years to come.”

_Our mountain._

Bilbo flushed with pleasure, and when Thorin smiled at him, Bilbo returned it.

They sat together in silence until the night grew thick and they each retired, hope in their hearts and a song on their lips.

 

* * *

 


End file.
